


the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a hell of heaven, a heaven of hell

by mintpearlvoice



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Police Brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintpearlvoice/pseuds/mintpearlvoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored and injured in her cell, Luci fantasizes.<br/>Title is from Paradise Lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a hell of heaven, a heaven of hell

In the moment when the police came for her, after they dragged away a protesting Amaterasu, she danced out of their reach, snapped her fingers twice- once for Baal,  once for Sakhmet. Don't come for me. They'll think you're my accomplice, dears, she thought to them.  
Farewell for now.  
Her body was invulnerable to the effects of her hedonism and debauchery; bullets swerved away from her in the air, or bounced off the weave of her morning-bright suit. A good knock to the head, though? Fate recognized that as hardly a threat, so down she went.  
(The next day every obedient little preteen in their church youth groups was doing #lucipose on Instagram, based on the original photo of her sprawled awkwardly across a courtroom floor, her arms spread as if crucified. And people thought she'd invented gossipy pettiness? Please. Humanity was doing just fine all on it's own.)

They had the splint ready, as if they'd been waiting for her to fuck up; pulled her fingers back in a way that made the skin feel tight and her wrists ache and had her holding back a wince. The metal vice of it clamped on tight enough to bruise.

She raised an eyebrow. "I could lose these fingers permanently, you know. Then where would you be?"  
"Much better off." He spat at her feet, deliberately hitting her boots.  
When her eyes glowed red with anger, he kneed her in the stomach; he was easily twice her size.  
She had too much pride to cry out. Instead she raised her chin defiantly, showed him her cuffed fingers: "Consider this me flipping you off."  
She must have looked like a threat, because they forced a hard plastic gag into her mouth.  
More than once on the ride to the jail she gagged, her throat and mouth rebelling, but she closed her eyes and breathed through it, playing sonatas in her head.

You little shits, she thought. I haven't given God the satisfaction of asking him to come back to heaven. Do you think I'll give you the satisfaction of asking you for help?

Sakhmet, dear thoughtless feline creature, had understood her warnings and stayed far  away.  
Ba'al, however, Ba'al who'd been on her side since the beginning of everything, brought her violin and her electric blanket. The electric blanket would have offered a small modicum of comfort, so she got to watch the guards cut it to shreds; they let her keep the violin, because she couldn't play it.  
Her ally hadn't thought that through.

The silence throbbed inside her head; she had long ago ceased to be high enough to make this anywhere near enjoyable, and the chills and fevers that passed over her in waves at the loss of nearly every item in the Luci Food Pyramid (which consisted of cigarettes, cocaine, Starbucks, and hot black tea) would have felled anyone except someone long accustomed to great extremes of ice and heat.  
She wondered if it would fell her. But asking for something for the fever or for her fingers or a nicotine patch would wound her pride- and the smallest scratch to that would hurt worse than a mortal blow. She couldn't bear humiliation, not even here.

And yet. If she couldn't sing, if she couldn't perform, she was worse than powerless, a demon declawed. Damn! She leaned back to rest her head against the cold white wall, her perfect face pale.  
I am not out of hell.  
Chin up, Lucifer. Hail horrors, et cetera. Show them any sign of defeat, the slightest inkling that you're starting to flag, and they've already won.  
Did they think that something as simple as solitary confinement would make her apologize? Confess? The thought made her smirk.

Climbing back into bed, she recalled the girl she'd met at Amaterasu's concert- sin and innocence all at once, and those amazing luscious curves.  
The way she'd stirred in her sleep, unconsciously chewing on her full bottom lip, her wig askew, one gorgeously ombré curl straying from her messy bun-  
She'd smelled like spring rain and summer fruit… and those unexpected eyes, eyes as clear as the sky…  
Usually Luci had some new beauty in her bed every night, and few mortals could stand up to Sakhmet's stamina the way she could. She hadn't realized how sexually frustrated she'd been until her body came alive at the thought of the girl from backstage at the show.  
Luci pulled the blanket over her head and let her hands move under her nightgown.  
Touch-starved, she rubbed herself all over, stroking the tension out of her lower back and her slender, boyish hips.  
Cupping her small breasts elicited a long, slow exhalation that turned shaky at the end-  
Oh, that felt good.

As a frustrated lonely baby butch, she'd gotten herself off so many times daydreaming about gorgeous girls with hourglass figures.  
That was when she'd had full use of her hands, though.  
The necessity of her throbbing desire engendered resourcefulness. Grinding against the heel of her palm, she let her thoughts drift.  
With a snap of her fingers, she could have any girl overcome with arousal, squirming with need-  
of course she'd only use that particular power on people who'd consented to it, but it was such an amazing rush to bring a girl a pleasure that she'd never before experienced, to change her life.  
She thought again of the girl who'd woken up first, the girl with Eden-colored hair; impulsively, she stabbed her pinky nail into the soft skin just below her clit and stifled a moan.

Fuck, even with an amazing body like that, I bet she's never gotten past first base. She's the type who'd rather dream of the stars than settle for earth. So I'll be her first, I'll expose and devour every throbbing fragment of her innocence, and anyone she ever kisses will taste like me-  
Stroking between her folds with only one finger, she imagined the bewitching plump little creature from the concert at her mercy. Gasping and trembling with pleasure, smelling more like herself with every passing moment, all wet and slick and perfect between her legs, giving herself over to the waves of perfect sensation that would course through her at Luci's hands.  
"Oh, god-" she'd cry breathlessly.  
"He can't hear you," Luci would murmur, her tone seductive in a half-mocking way. "I'm the only god you've got, and you'd do well to remember it. Because if you're very, very bad, I might answer your prayers."  
Luci, she'd moan, those uncanny light eyes locked on hers. Lucifer-  
She imagined claiming the other girl's mouth in a searing kiss as both their worlds exploded into perfection.  
Luci came silently, except for one soft gasp.  
Her body went limp. For the first time in a while, her head didn't hurt.  
Later- how much later, she wasn't sure, she might even have slept- a slot opened in the doorway, and the familiar hated gag slid in. Gag for her and earplugs for everyone else, that was the procedure whenever she had to be moved from cell to cell. The gag to prevent her from speaking intelligibly, the earplugs to prevent the effects of even the most garbled vocalization from reaching some poor, tender ears. It always made her smile- how afraid of her they were, even now, even here. She could terrify them with just a look, and it was one of her few remaining pleasures to push every employee as far as she dared.  
"You've got a visitor, Lord of the Pit. We'll be in in five."  
Luci regarded herself in the small smudged mirror of her cell. God, she looked like hell- and not in a good way. Still, she'd managed seductions in circumstances much worse than this.  
As the guards barged through the door to force the gag into her mouth, she ran a hand through her hair and smirked at her reflection. Showtime, Lucifer.

****

And now she had a name to the face to the fantasy: one L, one U, one R, two As, all of her more tempting than any remembrance. Laura of Eden, Laura of innocence, the devil's willing savior. The way her full lips had parted in disbelief to see her idol caged; the way she'd touched Luci's bound, bruised fingers with her own soft brown ones in a gesture that seemed to offer her body as well as her soul.  
So she was still very unceremoniously coming down from a cocaine binge, and her body hurt all over from the chill of the cell. So she could neither transcribe poetry nor strike up a tune on her violin. So what?  
She'd turned the tide in her favor after suffering worse. Once, after nearly dying on a Spanish battlefield, she'd organized an orgy with all the wives of the enemy officers. Nothing could stop her from seizing all that she desired.  
As soon as she had her freedom, she'd claim sweet Laura utterly, and make her soul the devil's own.


End file.
